Saucepans and Broomsticks
by Deerinheadlights
Summary: "Mirror, mirror on the wall. Can't you make me a little hotter?" Oh wait, wrong movie. Isabella Smith is waiting for her prince to come but she has a feeling she'll be waiting a while. Is it because he's stuck in traffic or his horse got clamped? Nope, it's because her new step-mother has her locked up in a tower... wrong movie again, sorry. You'll just have to read it.


_Once upon a time, in a land far, far away, lived an unhappy young girl…_

"Isabella!"

"Isabella!"

"Where are you girl?"

"Isabella!"

The young girl lifts her head off of her pillow, craning her neck to see the time displayed on her alarm clock.

"Half six?" she groans, flopping back down into the comfort of her bed while snapping her eyes tightly shut in an attempt to hold on to her dream.

"Isabella!"

"Oh give it a rest," she huffs, throwing back her covers with one arm and using the other to lever herself in to an upright position. "I'm coming!"

"Oh hurry Isabella! I don't have all day!"

"It's half six in the morning, of course you have all day," The girl mutters, rolling her eyes as she flings her legs over the side of the bed, firmly planting her feet on the floor.

She takes a second to let her eyes adjust to the light streaming in through her window before shoving away from the mattress and staggering to the door. Her eyes catch sight of her reflection in the mirror and she winces at the image it was showing her. With a birds nest of blonde-brown hair on her head and bags under her topaz eyes she wasn't exactly the image of beauty.

"Mirror, mirror on the wall, stop making me look like crap in the morning," she says, turning her head away from her haggard looking reflection.

The wooden stairs creak under her weight but it's a sound she's grown used to so it doesn't register in her mind.

"Isabella, will you get down here already?"

The girl grabs hold of the door frame at the end of the stairway and swings in to the kitchen.

"I'm here, mother," she says around a yawn.

"Don't yawn in my kitchen Isabella, it's extremely rude," the woman scolds, pursing her lips at the gall of the child. "Now, I have left a list of chores for you to do for the day while your father and I take care of some business."

"Yes mother," the girl replies making her way to the counter top where the list is sitting, waiting for her to scan it with her tired eyes. None of the chores take her by surprise, same old, same old.

"El darling," her father greets her as we walks in to the kitchen, briefcase in hand. "Did you sleep well?"

The girl smirks down at the list but pastes a grin on to her face before she turns around to face him.

"I slept fine, Dad, honestly," she rocks on to her tip toes to give him a kiss on the cheek. "Stop worrying so much."

"I have to worry sweetheart, it's part of the job description," he jokes, wrapping an arm around her lithe shoulders lovingly. "We'll be back at around four, alright?"

The girl nods into his shoulder and then pulls away to get started on making breakfast for herself and the rest of her family.

"I love you, kid," her father tells her before grabbing his long coat off of the hook on the back of the kitchen door.

"I love you too, Dad," she replies, pulling saucepans and ingredients out of the various cupboards and drawers. "I'll see you later!"

The man walks out the door, tugging his coat on as he went. The woman returned to the kitchen and flinched when she took note of the mess the girl had created.

"I hope you plan on cleaning that up Isabella," she says scathingly.

"Of course mother, as soon as I've made breakfast for the others."

The woman nods her head approvingly and slyly counts the number of utensils the girl is using, just in case she dared to steal from her step-mother.

"Make sure you get those chores done, Isabella!" The woman screeches as she leaves the house, banging the door shut behind her.

The young girl's shoulders slump forward in defeat but she picks up the flour and the eggs and the milk and makes a start on everybody's breakfast.

That young girl is me, Isabella Smith and that woman is my new step-mother, the woman my dad decided to marry last summer. Why I don't know because she has no redeeming qualities what so ever.

My real mother left us when I was four, I don't know why and while sometimes I get a little bit curious it's not something I have ever asked my Dad about.

I have some very faint memories of the woman who brought me into this world, she used to sing, she used to dance and she used to smile at my father like he was the only person in the world.

We were a happy family, or so I had thought until that gorgeously sunny day thirteen years ago when she decided that we weren't as happy as she would have liked.

I loved the days when it was just me and my Dad, we used to go to the park and play chasing or he's try to teach me how to play football and I would try to show him how to do a cartwheel. Again I had thought we were happy until that stormy day thirteen months ago when he met Agatha in a supermarket and they fell in love over frozen peas.

Agatha wanted (and got) a big white wedding where her twins, Erwin and Erin, could act as the best man and the maid of honour while I was stuck at the end of the line of bridesmaids. My father didn't want to upset his soon-to-be bride so he agreed not only to my being an insignificant member of the bridal party but also to the horrible puke green dresses that every girl was forced to wear. Apart from Erin because the vile, shimmering green conveniently clashed with her red hair and so she had to wear a misty blue gown that hung gracefully on her plump body.

We moved into our new house shortly after that and before I knew it I was up in the attic, unpacking my clothes into a small chest of drawers and laying my laptop down on my unsteady desk.

Since then my life has changed so dramatically that I'm not even sure if it's still _my _life. I go to my new school, I eat alone in the cafeteria and I stay in the library after school until my Dad gets out of work to pick me up. I look after the twins, I clean the house, I make the meals and I clean the house again.

"Isabella!"

I answer when I'm called and I do as I'm told.

But on the inside, I'm still trying to figure it all out.


End file.
